


The Amaguji One-Shot Collection

by ShuShuTrain



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Established Relationship, Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Kinda, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Normal Hope’s Peak Stuff, Sickfic, Sleep, Slow Dancing, Tags to be added, and avocado man’s issues, anthropology man’s issues, shinguji’s sister is a horrible person that’s all you need to know, taken from my tumblr, they both have them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-02-16 04:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18684613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShuShuTrain/pseuds/ShuShuTrain
Summary: A collection dedicated to my OTP. Some works are completely new, random things I come up with on the fly, and others are imported from my tumblr ask blog, amagujipositivitymail.Regardless of origin, there’s guaranteed to be lots of kisses, cuddling, and soft affection.Every day is a new adventure for them.





	1. Pillow

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyy so guess who got a AO3 at last?? Meeeee
> 
> So basically, this is my dump for any small amaguji one-shots and drabbles that don’t belong to a story of their own. Some of these did come from amagujipositivitymail on tumblr, so please note that I’m the same person who runs that blog! I’m just uploading them here so they aren’t lost in the blog’s posts.
> 
> This particular story was from a prompt request list on said blog. 
> 
> Prompt: “You’re my new pillow”.
> 
> So, enjoy my trash.

“You’re my new pillow.”

“I don’t see why,” Shinguji mused exhaustedly, staring ahead at the curtain covered windows. “There are far more comfortable things to rest upon.”

“Maybe to you, but not to me,” Amami mumbled into the thin fabric of the anthropologist’s white nightshirt as he pressed his face into his boyfriend’s chest. 

The adventurer twitched as he felt slender, bandaged fingers card through his hair, still damp from his nightly shower. His smirk went unseen due to the position of his face, but his snicker was not unheard.

“I don’t know why you’re arguing about more comfortable things,” the lime-haired boy snorted, grasping Shinguji’s left shoulder for a more snug grip. “You don’t seem to mind.”

“I don’t,” his response was immediate. “I quite enjoy your close proximity. I only worry you will be uncomfortable laying with your head on my chest as you are. I have been told my ribs are very prominent, so I assume you are uncomfortable.”

Amami’s free right hand snatched one of the two pillows their bed had, slamming the cushion down onto his boyfriend’s face. “I’m not,” he droned drowsily. “So shut up and go back to bed...”

“I beg your pardon,” Shinguji retaliated, removing the pillow and attempting to set it back in its proper place on Amami’s side of the bed. “But you woke me up.”

As soon as he finished that sentence, the pillow that was just set back in place was nabbed by the adventurer again. Once more, he attempted to club the boy beside him over the head with the pillow. 

“Doesn’t matter who woke who up,” Amami’s speech was slurred with tiredness. “Go back t’sleep...”

Shinguji chuckled at the nearly incomprehensible end to his statement. Just seconds after he lazily commanded that the anthropologist slept, Amami began to snore obnoxiously. The rumbling from the adventurer’s throat earned an amused smile from his partner, who earnestly listened to each deep breath that a unique snore followed.

Aside from his mouth hanging open and drool spilling out rather unattractively, Shinguji found his boyfriend’s sleeping face filling his chest with a warm sensation, as a balloon would slowly be inflated. The sight of him so snugly tucked under his arms caused a wave of ease to wash over the anthropologist as he observed his peaceful slumber.

What a wonder you are, Rantaro Amami, Shinguji thought to himself as he shut his amber eyes, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic patterns of Amami’s softening snores.


	2. Welcome Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amami comes and goes on various trips as he pleases.
> 
> Shinguji doesn’t understand why he anticipates each time he returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This takes place before the proper start of their relationship, in Hope’s Peak.

Amami would be back today. Shinguji would rather pretend he wasn’t counting the days.

As a sworn observer alone, the anthropologist had become accustomed to solitude, and often welcomed it. In a way, his own eagerness for the adventurer’s return was immensely frustrating. He’d sworn he would never make exceptions to his observation-only rule.

But, judging by how few Hope’s Peak staff members seemed to truly care about the green-haired boy’s inexplicable and long absence, Amami was the exception to many rules.

And Shinguji wasn’t blind, no— he could see the knowing smile Akamatsu shot his way when the man of the hour finally walked through the classroom doors. Her opinions on the two’s unexpected friendship were clear as day, Shinguji had been aware for some time. He shot her a quick silencing glare from the back row of desks. 

“Hey, Kiyo!” 

Shinguji nearly leapt out of his seat, instead directing his startled energy into tightly gripping the edges of his desk. It seemed Amami’s priority upon entering was, bizarrely in the eyes of the anthropologist, to pull a chair over close to the lanky boy seated in the back. 

“Ah... Amami,” Shinguji’s recovery from being spooked was rapid, as it had been for years. “You have returned. Where did you wander off to this time?”

“I was in Brazil for a while,” A relaxed smile flickered across the other boy’s face as he leaned back in his chair. 

The adventurer couldn’t help but let his smile widen as he caught a small spark in the anthropologist’s amber eyes. 

“Did you, now?” Shinguji’s dark mask creased slightly, near his cheeks, indicating a smile behind the pitch-colored fabric. “I am most envious. My travels have not yet taken me to the western hemisphere.”

“Wait, really?” those words sparked surprise and confusion in the traveler. “You haven’t been anywhere there? I figured your studies would have taken you there at least once.”

“I prefer to be very thorough in all the areas I conduct fieldwork in. I have a system set in place,” Shinguji explained, eyes dreamily sliding shut. “I conduct my fieldwork in areas closest to home and work my way out further. I certainly do not want to miss any unique settlements or landmarks... in my thoroughness, I have yet to see over half the lands of our own hemisphere, but the hundreds of fascinating sights I’ve seen while taking my time investigating and exploring are all quite worth the slow pace. That, and traveling to any place such distance across the ocean is far more expensive than scouring these eastern lands,  
almost all connected somehow...”

Eyelashes fluttered delicately as Shinguji opened his eyes once more. His brow creased and a bandaged hand traveled upwards to tiredly pinch the bridge of his nose. “...I digress. My apologies,” the anthropologist’s head dipped downward in a small bow. “I did not intend to take control of the conversation.”

“Hah, oh, it’s fine,” Amami waved him off, peacefully joyous attitude unwavering. “I like hearing about different travel styles. I’ll have to try your way for myself one of these days.”

“But go on, go on,” Shinguji speedily dismissed the topic, leaning forward in his seat with great interest. “What encounters did you have on this trip?”

“Like, people?” Memories of a particularly drunk couple who had tried to invite themselves into his hotel room flashed through Amami’s mind, earning a soft snicker from him at the thought. “There were plenty of interesting characters. The good and bad kind of interesting.”

“I feel that seeing both kinds is necessary for true cultural understanding, witnessing the good and bad of people as we are used to seeing in our own home cultures,” Shinguji began to methodically drum his gauze-wrapped fingers on the desk surface. “Both sights are invaluable.”

“You have a point,” Amami chuckled, scratching around the edges of rather unfortunately received mosquito bite at the back of his neck. “You really should have seen some of the—“

Amami’s jet-lagged ramblings came to an abrupt end as the shrill chime of a bell signaled the start of homeroom.

“Oh, damn, class is starting already?” Amami stole a hesitant glance at their homeroom teacher, who hadn’t yet looked up from her papers to notice Amami out of his seat. “Uh, real quick—“

Shinguji furrowed his brow in confusion as the adventurer hastily shoved a leather bound book into his hands. No sooner had the book been passed to him did Amami turn his back, sliding the chair he’d borrowed back to its original location. As the lime-haired boy began his brisk-paced walk back to the front of the room, Shinguji managed to get in a question.

“What is this, Amami?”

Still mid-walk back to his seat beside Akamatsu, Amami swiveled his head to face the anthropologist again. “It’s a little photo album of the most interesting places I saw on my trip. I figured you’d want some physical pictures for your studies.”

“This is...” Shinguji lifted the cover with the utmost delicacy, wistfully admiring the first three pictures his eyes were greeted with. “...A very meaningful gift.”

He allowed his eyes to lazily drift up to meet Amami’s emerald ones once again. Though the mask kept it hidden, he managed a small smile in the adventurer’s direction. 

“Thank you, Amami.”

——

“Shinguji,” Akamatsu’s voice echoed down the hallway from behind him. “I know you and I don’t exactly know each other really well, but—“

Jogging at a considerable speed to keep pace with the anthropologist, she flashed a weary smile his direction. 

“I think Amami really likes you. Like, more than anyone else he’s friends with.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shinguji scoffed, thankful his mask hid the small tinge of a blush he could feel creeping onto his cheeks at the very idea of such a thing. “It is common tradition to bring souvenirs to friends following a trip. His bringing me something indicates nothing.”

“Hey, I’ve known him longer than you have!” the pianist protested, picking up speed to ensure the pair kept consistent eye contact throughout the conversation. “And he never gets souvenirs for anyone but his sisters. I’ve never seen it happen, not once.”

“And?” 

“I think that means he thinks you’re pretty special, Shinguji,” Akamatsu winked coyly at him, then dashed off further down the hall to catch Saihara just before he slipped out the front doors. 

Shinguji felt his pace slow involuntarily at that last statement.

Special? To Amami?

... He hated how the thought made the corners of his mouth begin to twitch into a smile.


	3. (Aggressively Enforced) Self Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shinguji is a chronic insomniac, and Amami tries what he can to get him to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taken from a dialogue prompt submission at amagujipositivitymail, “shush and go back to bed”.

“Shush, and go back to bed.”

“Hmph...”

Despite his clear distaste for the situation, Shinguji made no attempt to pry Amami’s strong fingers away from his arm, and begrudgingly allowed himself to be dragged back into their shared bedroom.

“You’d feel a lot better if you just got a good night’s sleep,” Amami remarked as he guided the stubborn anthropologist back towards the bed. “And you know it.”

“Perhaps this is true,” Shinguji’s argument was delivered with the utmost composure and aloofness. “But, alas, I struggle with sleep already. And there is much I must do in a day, much research to be done for my own personal studies and even more to be done for my schooling... it seems logical to use my sleeping issues to maximize my productivity, no? I will sleep on my own terms.”

“Well,” the super-high-school-level adventurer grunted dismissively, releasing his partner’s hand and gesturing towards the unmade bed. “Those sleeping issues would be resolved if you just made an effort to work on a normal sleep schedule.”

“Ah, but it is not that simple. I may lay in bed for as long as I please, but I will not sleep, and I will grow restless. It has happened with each attempt at correcting my sleep schedule I have made.”

“It’s not gonna happen overnight,” the lime-haired boy folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at his roommate. “You’ll need to try more than once. So, go back to bed, Kiyo.”

Shinguji tilted his head with the false curiosity of a wise, mischievous fox. His long, silky hair fell to one side with the motion, obscuring the smug expression his eyes conveyed only slightly. 

“And if I am to refuse?”

Amami visibly considered the question, spinning one of his many rings around his index finger as he pondered it. The ten seconds it took for him to reach a conclusion felt like an eternity to his defiant boyfriend, who was quite eager to hear this response. 

After those agonizingly long ten seconds had rolled past, however, Amami clicked his tongue in realization, releasing the ring he had been fidgeting with and making direct eye contact with Shinguji. What happened next was a blur, a flurry of activity, and even the sharp and always observant anthropologist couldn’t fully process what occurred. 

In the span of a mere second, two thin arms wrapped around his waist in an unrelenting iron grip. Another second was all it took for the spindly man to be lifted into the air, and yet one second more for him to be viciously thrown onto the mattress with enough force to make many grapplers nervous.

Petrified by pure shock and still winded from being thrown, Shinguji could do little more than wheeze as the shorter boy then joined him on the bed. Amami instantly attached himself to Shinguji, nearly squeezing the life out of his boyfriend with a protective hug from the side. It took only a few moments of trying to wriggle away from the bone-crushing hug that Shinguji sighed as he realized his ulterior motive.

“You’re going to force me to sleep,” the boy mumbled from behind his mask. “Like this? Refusing to let me move...?”

“Mm-hm,” Amami nodded casually, as if the events of just a few seconds ago had only occurred in an alternate universe. “So get comfy and go back to sleep. I’ll wait.”

Shinguji groaned inwardly as he glanced up towards the ceiling, studying the patterns on the glass of the darkened overhead light above.

“You are quite aggressive about self care.”

Amami’s hands loosened their death grip, instead gently massaging and kneading at the anthropologist’s skin. “With you, I have to be. Take better care of yourself, okay?”

The gentle touch produced a twitch from the other boy, briefly alarmed by the slightly ticklish sensation. He admired how delicately Amami’s lashes hung over his fair skin as he spoke, nerves loosening with the soft massages. His eyelids... were starting to grow heavy. His racing heart, starting to slow back to its normal pace. 

“...I will try, Amami.”

“Trying’s good enough for me,” Amami pressed a light kiss to Shinguji’s neck, snickering as he felt the boy shudder in surprise. “Good night, Kiyo. I’m right here if you need me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind... good night.”


	4. Ice, and Something Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( This was a request from my blog, amagujipositivitymail. The requestor asked for comfort cuddles, with Shinguji being comforted. )
> 
> Exam week has a lot of stress on everyone, and when Shinguji faints in class, there’s always someone there to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not  
> feel good about my writing at all  
> I feel like I suffer from issues with wording, I tell too much and don’t show enough, and I make the story just too... linear. Part of me says “these doubts are irrational” but an overwhelming part of me reads my own stories and is just disgusted by what I see.  
> Maybe it is just me who thinks it’s bad or in need of serious work? God, I don’t know. It’s frustrating that I keep obsessing over the same stuff that I keep thinking I resolved.

“Hey.”

Shinguji flinched as cold, damp fabric met his forehead. His eyes flickered open, long, fair eyelashes dusting across his cheeks. His weary retinas were blessed with a minimally lit room, only cast in the soft orange glow of a small lamp. 

Colors began to blur together in the dim room as Shinguji’s skull suddenly pulsed with nauseating pain. He groaned in agony, letting his eyes slip shut again in a desperate effort to dull the pain. Numbness crept through his every limb. While the disconnecting sensation was unnerving, the pain in his head left Shinguji no motivation to twitch his appendages to fight it. He laid there uselessly, limp as a rag-doll, while small beads of icy water began to trickle down his face.

“Hey, Kiyo...” a hand shifted the cloth on his forehead, dampness beginning to seep into his hair. 

The coo of that lovingly familiar voice coaxed Shinguji’s eyes open again, wandering lazily in search of the source. Amami was sitting to his left, knelt down besides what Shinguji was laying on, which he wearily recognized as an equally familiar couch. Those lime eyes narrowed in worry as they met Shinguji’s, Amami’s warm hand cupping the side of his head.

“Kiyo, are you okay?” While his voice was steady as ever, Shinguji couldn’t miss the slight lacing of worry in it. 

He mumbled unintelligibly behind his mask, just to let the other boy know he was responsive. Amami’s eyes glistened with hopeful relief at the sign, his other hand moving to card through Shinguji’s silky hair. His headache eased as Amami looked him over with his protective gaze. Pain soon turned to exhaustion as the anthropologist’s eyelids grew heavy once more, sagging closed despite his best efforts to remain awake. 

A sure to be heavy sleep, however, was interrupted by an unwanted droplet of frigid water pooling over his eyelids. A shudder wracked through his numbed limbs, inspiring strength in one arm to wipe away the water. 

Amami’s hand beat him to it, however, meticulously brushing the water away from his eyes. His warm, soft skin replacing the icy chill of the water was a welcome sensation. 

The warmth of the damp rag being removed entirely, however, was not as welcome. 

As soon as the soaked fabric was peeled away from his forehead, a shock of pain jolted through Shinguji’s head, just between his eyebrows. His eyes, though closed, throbbed in their sockets, pulsing uncomfortably against his skin. His teeth gritted in pain as he swung to grab the towel again, only succeeding in smacking dully against Amami’s arm.

“Kiyo, hold on, I’m gonna see if we have an ice pack that would be less messy than this,” Amami explained, gently guiding Shinguji’s arm back to his side. “Hang in there.”

It had to have only been seconds, but the nonstop pounding in his head as he waited made listening to light footfalls making their way to the kitchen feel like an eternity. 

When Amami returned, it was with a tightly wrapped bag of ice, contained in a, thankfully, dry towel. Shinguji let out a sigh of relief as the cold met his forehead again, numbing the pain almost immediately.

“What happened?” Shinguji slurred, tiredly looking to his boyfriend.

“You don’t remember?” Amami’s tone remained soft as he kneeled by his side once more. “You fainted in your history class. The teacher had Ouma call me down to get you.”

Shinguji winced as he pitifully attempted to sit himself up, the ice pack sliding down his face as a result. As soon as the bag hit his chest as it fell, the pain resumed with as much tenacity as before, only paused again by Amami returning the bag to its place.

“You hit your head hard.”

“I could tell as much,” the anthropologist grumbled, draping a bandaged hand over his aching eyes.

The couch cushions sunk with additional weight. In a flash, Amami had slid himself between the back of the couch and Shinguji’s thin form, hovering his fingers inches away from his shoulders. 

“How does your head feel now?” Amami lowered his volume further, beginning to massage small circles in Shinguji’s back. 

“Throbbing, without the ice,” Shinguji replied, one limp hand extended as he blindly searched for Amami’s own hand. 

The chill of his cooled metal rings seeped in through the gauze on the anthropologist’s own hands as their fingers intertwined at last. Amami chuckled softly as Shinguji’s arm twitched with a meager shudder when their hands finally met. One of his amber eyes cracked open, lazily directing its gaze to the adventurer beside him on the couch. 

“Close your eyes,” Amami urged, shielding the eye with his free hand. “You’re probably still a little sensitive to light.”

While Shinguji grunted in disapproval, he made no attempt to argue. Once again, his eyelids slid shut. Thankful his boyfriend would no longer deal with the glare of the small lamp in the room, Amami shifted his free hand to Shinguji’s stomach. His breathing remained steady as Amami’s arm draped across his stomach, effectively holding the other boy under his arm. Too weary to care about Amami holding him in his protective grasp, Shinguji instead eased into the loose hug. 

Rolling himself to the side with the best of his abilities, the anthropologist nuzzled against the adventurer’s chest, Appreciating his warmth without a second thought. Sounds of the rumbling air conditioner or Amami’s soft breaths began to fade into a low hum as Shinguji’s body, once more, attempted to succumb to sleep. 

“Go to sleep if you want,” Amami’s voice assured him within the blackness of his closed eyes, a soft pair of lips pressing a kiss on his cheek. “It’ll probably help you feel better, too.”

Grateful for Amami’s observance, Shinguji finally allowed sleep to claim him. His comforting warmth never left his side, his hair tickling Shinguji’s few patches of exposed skin as Amami’s head came to a rest in the crook of his neck.

Even as Shinguji’s breathing evened out and his head lolled to one side, causing the ice pack to tumble off, Amami didn’t dare move. He focused on his own eyelids instead, convincing his body that they hung heavy and he needed to join his partner in sleep. Such a sleep never came, however, and Amami remained awake, watching Shinguji sleep with a look of relief etched onto his features. 

An hour passed, and with Shinguji’s head now fully buried in his chest, Amami focused his gaze on his partner’s beautiful sleeping features. From his fair skin to the dark hair that draped over it all, the anthropologist radiated peace in his sleep. A smile twitched at the corner’s of Amami’s mouth as he kissed his forehead, still frigid from the ice pack’s presence before. 

He remained asleep until the last glimpse of daylight had left their dorm window, and Amami began to grow conscious of the time. At eight, according to his watch, Amami hefted himself from the couch, taking the utmost care not to shift Shinguji in his sleep. 

It was easy to take up the anthropologist in his arms. In a matter of seconds, Shinguji was cradled to his chest as Amami made his way to their bedroom. Even as he laid down, he couldn’t bear to leave the snoozing anthropologist on his own, though...

Amami let sleep claim him, too, at last, with his boyfriend clutched tightly to his chest.


	5. A Kitchen Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late at night, Shinguji shares a few lessons in dance with his boyfriend. Not all goes as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say!! I felt nice while writing this one.  
> This was a request on amagujipositivitymail, specifically for dancing!

“Not well versed in dancing, are we?”

“Shut up.”

Moonlight poured in through the small kitchen window, dappling the newly cleaned tiles with spots of silver. It was on that same floor that Amami nearly lost his footing, bare feet sliding and scrambling for traction.

Shinguji’s golden eyes cut through the darkness of the night, looking down on him with a bemused glimmer in those amber orbs. 

“I do not mean to offend,” the anthropologist observed aloud, clutching Amami’s hands tightly in his as he slipped again. “But I had assumed you knew your dancing quite well, with how you give tips to anyone who asks.”

“I’m fine describing it,” strands of lime hair obscured his vision as Amami braces himself against his boyfriend. “In practice, it’s a different story...”

One bandaged hand curled around his hip as he steadied himself at last. Warmth radiated from beneath the wraps, seeping through the thin fabric of his own shirt. The tickle of comforting heat made him twitch, earning another airy chuckle from Shinguji.

The taller man swayed to a tune all his own. His delicate eyelashes fluttered as his eyes slid shut in concentration. Amami allowed himself to be guided along by the palm against his back, focused intently on mirroring Shinguji’s footwork. The steps were simple at glance, yet as Amami paced squares in time with his boyfriend, anxiety crept into his ear to whisper its doubts of his abilities. 

“You’re getting better,” just like that, with those three words, the anxieties and doubts were so suddenly silenced. “Have you noticed you stopped tripping and sliding?”

“Careful,” Amami warned, masking his concerns in the nick of time before a voice crack gave him away. “You might jinx it.”

Perhaps Amami has just imagined it, but he could have sworn a look of doubt flickered across the pale boy’s face. The illumination from the moonlight was meager, however, and Amami shook it off as a trick of the light. Now, Shinguji was observant, but not _that_ good, surely. 

“A box step is not too challenging,” Shinguji’s coo of a voice snapped him out of his daze. “You’re doing beautifully, love.”

“Oh, stop,” Amami couldn’t stop the smile that snuck onto his face—or the blush. “We’re literally dancing in our own kitchen by ourselves... nothing worth praising, Kiyo.”

“I apologize for my lack of control over loving ever little thing you do.”

Though concealed behind his mask, Amami practically _heard_ the smirk on his boyfriend’s pale face. He shuddered as two bandaged fingers began to dance along his side, earning an involuntary giggle from the adventurer. 

“Hah, Kiyo, knock if off!” Amami squirmed away from the touch. “You know my sides are sensitive-!”

Before Shinguji could snap back with another witty retort, he hissed in pain as Amami’s foot came down on his toes. The pierced boy staggered as he attempted to evade the teasingly placed jabs to his sides, slipping on the tile floor for the umpteenth time that night. 

He was really beginning to regret polishing it so thoroughly that morning. 

“Gah...! Sorry, Kiyo!” Amami managed to squeak out before losing his footing entirely and bowling over the poor twig of a man holding him. 

Though winded, Shinguji regained his breath rather quickly. He let out an airy chuckle as he grasped Amami’s wrists, guiding his hands away from where they had briefly pinned him to the floor. “It’s quite alright, Amami,” he hummed, features tightening with the hint of a hidden smirk. “It gives me a good view of just how red your face has become.”

Almost instinctively, he wrenched his hands from Shinguji’s bandaged ones and promptly clapped them over his face, cringing as the warmth of his skin pressed against already sweaty palms. 

“Jeez, Kiyo, knock it off already...!” he growled behind his hands.

Frustration and embarrassment tingled in his chest as he felt the fabric of Shinguji’s mask brush against his fingers. His lips moved ever so slowly behind the zipper, planting an indirect kiss along the back of Amami’s hands. Such an air of vulnerability he could feel himself giving off was nothing short of disquieting. 

“Oh, but Amami, you’re simply adorable like this,” two thin arms wrapped around his waist and rugged him back to the ground, landing roughly against Shinguji’s chest. “Where has this timid Amami been hiding this whole time?”

“Behind something a bit better,” Amami grumbled into the olive fabric of his boyfriend’s jacket.

“I disagree,” one of his hands began to delicately run through Amami’s hair. “I find all aspects of your personality and self quite beautiful. For they are all still Amami, after all.”

Pulling his head away from the steady drum of Shinguji’s heart, Amami managed a tiny smile down at the taller boy. 

“That’s a bit reassuring. No one’s told me that before.”

“Shocking,” Shinguji deadpanned. “Can they not see the obvious connection between the different aspects of you? If they define you by one collection of characteristics, that is quite limiting on their end, and they are not fully appreciating your beauty as a complete person—“

His ramblings were silenced as his mask was tugged down, exposing his thin, pale lips. The perfect target for a kiss, Amami determined, pressing their lips together and savoring the warmth of Shinguji’s true skin against his.

“Thanks, Kiyo,” he repeated, tapping the now red anthropologist’s nose with his index finger. “That’s all I needed to hear. No need for rambling about reasons. If you see the value in different sides of me, that’s all I need.”

“Whatever you say,” he shook his head, blush fading away as he eased into Amami’s comforting presence.


End file.
